


'cause it's late and your mama don't know

by phae



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Pre-Avengers (2012), Sassy family is made of sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phae/pseuds/phae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Phil answers his cell with a terse, “Coulson,” he’s expecting it to be Fury demanding to know how Phil let the late night talk show gig get so out of hand so quickly and so very disturbingly. Phil not only has a calm explanation as to how the particular events came to transpire and leak onto YouTube almost instantaneously (That’s on Stark. And JARVIS. Phil will be letting Pepper handle that situation as she so masterfully does on a daily basis) but also an easy to implement solution already on standby.</p><p>Phil is not expecting his mother’s polished accent to answer him from the other end of the line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'cause it's late and your mama don't know

**Author's Note:**

> My dash has been filled with reblogs of [this](http://dasmarchenleben.tumblr.com/post/53066690732/alykat86-hardestcopy-bijou1986-a-mom-went) and Jason Walsh, and this is the result. In case you're curious, I pictured Phil's mom as being kind of like Helen Mirren's Victoria in RED, but without the assassin part. Or possibly with it. Title is from T-Swift's _Our Song_.

When Phil answers his cell with a terse, “Coulson,” he’s expecting it to be Fury--possibly Hill given how peeved the Director has become with the Avengers’ latest PR stunts--demanding to know how Phil let the late night talk show gig get so out of hand so quickly and so very disturbingly. Phil not only has a calm explanation as to how those particular events came to transpire and leak onto YouTube almost instantaneously (That’s on Stark. And JARVIS. Phil will be letting Pepper handle that situation as she so masterfully does on a daily basis) but also an easy-to-implement solution already on standby.

 

Phil is not expecting his mother’s polished accent to answer him from the other end of the line. “Phillip! I’m so happy to have caught you.” Juliet Coulson’s voice slips into that vaguely passive-aggressive tone that Phil has become far too used to since he began moving up the ranks at SHIELD and skipping more and more family functions. “Usually your mobile goes straight to voicemail when I call.”

 

“Mom, hi. Now’s really not the best time—”

 

His mother sighs. “Honestly, Phillip, you can’t be that busy if you bothered to answer your phone at all.”

 

Phil winces. He makes a mental note to assign his mother a personal ringtone so that he doesn't accidentally answer one of her calls when he's meant to be working again. “I’m actually in the middle of a minor crisis at the moment. Can I call you back?”

 

“While I don’t doubt your actual ability to return my calls, darling, your lack of follow through does leave one to wonder sometimes.”

 

“Did you need to talk about something, Mom? It’s the middle of June, and unless you’ve remarried again, I’m not missing any holidays.”

 

“Not a holiday, no, but your cousin did just have a baby. Although, given that you won’t even bother to get on the Facebook you probably didn’t even know she was pregnant.”

 

“It’s a girl," Phil interrupts before she can get deep into an infamous guilt trip. "They’re calling her Abbi with an _i_. I sent Katie and Mike a Babies’R’Us gift card worth a very sizable amount. Was that all you needed?”

 

Phil knows his mother is flicking her eyes up to the ceiling at the moment. “I need to know if you’re actually in New York for the foreseeable future. I have a present I want to send you, but I’m not going to bother if it’s going to sit in the backroom at the post office until they give up and send it back to me.”

 

“As far as I know, I’m here for the next few weeks. Go ahead and mail it. I’ll even make an effort to be around my apartment when the delivery guy usually comes by so that it doesn’t have to spend a single day in the backroom.”

 

“I’m much too good to you,” his mother insists, but Phil can hear the lilt of amusement in her tone.

 

“That’s why you’re my mother. I really do have to go now. Love you, Mom.”

 

“Love you more, darling.”

 

Phil ends the call and waits for six seconds before his phone goes off again. He checks the caller ID--actually Fury this time. "Coulson," he answers.

 

 

 

*** 

 

Two days later, Phil gets home ready to pop a Stouffer’s dinner in the microwave and then pass out on his couch after an episode or two of _Supernanny_. As he’s opening the door, Phil experiences a moment of hyperawareness where his hand twitches for his holstered gun when he hears someone in his kitchen. But then he remembers that Clint has decided to crash at his apartment while he’s looking for a new place so Phil relaxes his arm and prepares himself mentally to not snap at the first smartass comment out of Clint’s mouth.

 

Phil shrugs off his suit jacket and hangs it up in the hall closet then heads towards the kitchen. At least with Clint around, there’s the promise of home-cooked food, though the quality is sometimes questionable. He stops at the breakfast bar and leans over it to see what Clint is throwing together and comes face-to-face with his mother, who is sitting on a barstool near the counter where Clint is chopping vegetables and sipping wine from a glass that Phil wasn’t aware he owned. They both look over at Phil with smiles, though his mother’s is a good deal more devious than Clint’s.

 

“Mother,” Phil greets with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Surprise, darling.” Juliet stands and glides over to Phil, picking up another glass of wine from the counter and handing it to Phil before she tilts his head down to kiss his cheek.

 

“Is this meant to be my present?” Phil asks as he returns the kiss.

 

“She did bring wine,” Clint breaks in, moving over to the stove to toss some vegetables into a pan. “And glasses for the wine. She knows you well.”

 

Phil eyes the half-full glass, sloshing the red wine around the edges disinterestedly. “Well enough to know I don’t drink wine.”

 

Juliet waves a dismissive hand. “Every bottle is it’s own unique experience, Phillip. You won’t know if you like it until you’ve tried it.”

 

Phil lifts the glass and takes a small sip. It's enough to make his lips purse and his nose scrunch up. His mother rolls her eyes, huffing out an exasperated sigh, but Phil can see the way Clint’s shoulders jerk like they do when he’s holding back from laughing. Phil sets the glass down and nudges it his mother’s way.

 

“Should I even bother asking what you’re doing here?”

 

“Hmm, yes. How dare a mother want to see her son,” Juliet remarks dryly.

 

“You could have told me.”

 

“I did call you this morning after my plane landed.”

 

“Strange, I don’t remember getting a phone call.”

 

“You left your cell at your desk when you went to your meeting," Clint explains. He reaches up to the cabinets and pulls out various spice bottles; Phil would rather not know what they are. "You seemed busy, so I told Juliet I’d swing by to pick her up and keep her entertained.”

 

Phil can feel the usual tightening around his eyes that's indicative of an annoyed eye spasm. “How chivalrous of you.”

 

“He’s been an absolute delight, as he always is,” Juliet assures him.

 

Phil takes a moment to drum his fingers against the countertop. “The way you said that made it sound like you didn’t just meet Barton today. Which I know can't be the case because I've never introduced the two of you.”

 

Clint tosses a dishrag hanging from the oven handle at Phil's head. “If you didn’t want me to answer your phone and chat with your ma, you should stop leaving it in your office while I’m napping in there.”

 

“Noted." Phil adds another bullet point to his mental checklist: lock Clint out of his phone. "So what’s for dinner?”

 

Clint gives him a look over his shoulder and gestures at the stovetop. “Observe, oh brilliant one.”

 

Phil tosses the dishrag back, and Clint easily snatches it out of the air and wraps it around the pan handle. “Let me rephrase: are you making something _you_ like or something other people will deem edible?”

 

“Only the best for your ma.”

 

“That doesn’t actually answer my question.”

 

Clint cuts a playful glare Phil's way. “Go set the table, sir.” 

 

Phil doesn't bother protesting, simply rounds the island to take down plates from the cabinet and grab silverware from the drawer, setting the forks and knives on top of the plates and heading for the small table in the dining room. Juliet takes the silverware from the top of Phil’s pile and places them around the table after him. “Was that a work _sir_ or a sex _sir_?” she asks quietly, her eyes practically sparkling.

 

“Mother,” Phil hisses in a low voice. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop. There was a gas leak at his apartment. He needed somewhere to stay while he finds a new place, and I have a guest room that never gets used because even when you drop in for a visit, you insist on staying at a hotel. That is all.”

 

Juliet’s eyebrows rise in the very definition of an incredulous expression, and she pats his cheek condescendingly as she mutters, “As you say, darling.”

 

Clint exits the kitchen with two serving bowls in hand, and Phil is more than happy to drop the conversation in favor of finding out what ridiculous flavors Clint’s decided to mix together tonight.

 

*** 

 

Phil makes it back to his apartment a week later with a building headache in tow. He really just wants to go to sleep, but Clint turns around from the TV to face the doorway as soon as Phil walks through and says, “I think your ma stole one of your Cap figures.”

 

Phil immediately pauses in the middle of the living room and lets his eyes sweep over every inch of it as he mentally catalogues all of the vintage memorabilia on display. He quickly notices the empty space on the small bookshelf where a faint layer of dust marks the absence of his 1984 Secret Wars Captain America figure.

 

Phil rounds on Clint, giving him his blandest stare. Clint throws his hands up and insists, “Swear I didn’t do it. I know better than to poke at your Cap obsession.”

 

“It’s not an obsession,” Phil grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes sweep the room again to make sure nothing else is missing. Growing up, Phil’s idolizing of Captain _America_ had certainly been a point of contention between him and his mother, but he can’t fathom why she’d take one of his action figures. He has a hard time even imagining his mother deigning to touch a Cap collectible. And all of this is doing nothing to help with his headache.

 

“You alright?” Clint asks, grabbing the remote on the couch arm to turn the volume down.

 

“Headache,” Phil responds succinctly. “I’m going to bed.”

 

Clint hums in sympathy. “Want me to call her and ask about Cap?”

 

Phil shakes his head. “I’ll take care of it in the morning.” He frowns when he walks past the bookshelf and stops to move a framed trading card over on the shelf so that all the memorabilia are positioned equidistantly apart again.

 

 

 

*** 

 

Phil rolls out of bed in the morning feeling well enough to deal with his mother. He hears the shower running and elects to start a pot of coffee while he calls Juliet.

 

The phone rings twice before his mother picks up. “Is the apocalypse nigh?”

 

“Not that I’m aware of," Phil says, eyes glancing out the window to ensure an alien invasion hasn't descended on Manhatten overnight. He enters the kitchen and is pleased to find coffee already made. "Morning, Mom.”

 

“Good morning, darling. To what do I owe the pleasure of a phone call initiated by my uncommunicative son?”

 

Phil pulls out a mug and pours himself a generous helping. “I’m not saying you did take my vintage Cap action figure, and I’m not saying you didn’t take it, but the fact remains that you stopped by for a visit and Cap went missing shortly thereafter.” His accusation made as politely as possible for this early in the morning, Phil starts in on his coffee.

 

His mother hums placatingly. “I’m not saying that you’re sleeping with your temporary flatmate, and I’m not saying you aren’t sleeping with him, and you know I love you unconditionally, but the fact remains that if he was sleeping in the guest room he’d have had to share the bed with your dear Captain.”

 

Clint walks in, a towel hanging low on his hips, just in time to catch Phil choking as he swallows his coffee wrong, inappropriate images of Hawkeye and Captain America in bed together very unhelpfully flashing through his mind. Clint snorts as he pours his own cup of coffee and then sidles up behind Phil, slipping an arm around his waist.

 

“She found us out, huh?” Clint mumbles into one ear while his mother trills smugly in the other.

 

“You’re bringing him to my birthday extravaganza next month,” Juliet orders before she disconnects the call.

 

“Birthday? I’ll bake a cake!" Clint exclaims. "Chocolate and hot sauce? Or wasabi? There should definitely be M&M’s in there. Or Skittles. Skittles are good too.”

 

Phil drops his phone onto the counter and turns in Clint's arms. "That sounds awful."

 

"If by awful, you mean delicious, then yes," Clint nods in agreement.

 

"You do know she's going to insist on showing you off to everyone at that party."

 

"I am a-okay with that."

 

"You say that now." Phil finishes off his coffee and sets his mug in the sink. He puts Clint's in the sink as well before starting to back him out of the kitchen, one hand going to the small of Clint's back to keep them pressed close. "She left Cap in the guest room."

 

Clint barks out a laugh. "I like your ma. She's my kind of sly."

 

"Never should have let you two meet."

 

"That's crazy talk! And just think, now you can spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with me  _and_ your family and not have to feel guilty about ditching somebody."

 

"Well, there is that," Phil admits. He lets his hand slide around to Clint's waist and pushes the towel away.

 

Clint's eyes light up and he reaches out to shove up Phil's t-shirt. "Back to bed?" he asks.

 

Phil doesn't bother answering, just presses forward until Clint falls back on the bed and topples down after him. Clint squirms happily beneath him then lowers his eyelashes coyly. He pushes up into Phil until their mouths are barely touching. Clint lowers his voice so that it rumbles straight through Phil's chest. "You wanna be Cap, and I'll be Bucky?"

 

Phil is too smooth a guy to admit that he sputters incoherently in reply, and Clint is too nice to Phil (mostly to make up for being not-nice to everyone else) to tease him about it later.

 


End file.
